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authorCase Duckworth2015-03-14 11:33:26 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-03-14 11:33:26 -0700
commit5685e1dba9b485939c833ba86f4e5c2e5e34453b (patch)
treef61602ba63e905e9bc7033ad06e790e7356e4dc6 /real-writer.html
parentMove test suite into its own folder (diff)
downloadautocento-5685e1dba9b485939c833ba86f4e5c2e5e34453b.tar.gz
autocento-5685e1dba9b485939c833ba86f4e5c2e5e34453b.zip
Mostly fix #11: Dedication/epigraph alignment
So the issue is solved in terms of how it looks, though
it adds a gross extra div into every page and uses :only-child,
which I don't think is super-supported. But it's the best I can
do that I know of until we get to better flexbox support.

Or you know, maybe later I can try doing some templating fixes--
injecting classes so that normally, .dedication is right-aligned
but when an epigraph is present, change the class to .dedication-left
or something. IDK. Either way is sort of ugly. :(
Diffstat (limited to 'real-writer.html')
-rw-r--r--real-writer.html6
1 files changed, 4 insertions, 2 deletions
diff --git a/real-writer.html b/real-writer.html index 877861e..63d801e 100644 --- a/real-writer.html +++ b/real-writer.html
@@ -34,8 +34,10 @@
34 <h1 class="title">A real writer</h1> 34 <h1 class="title">A real writer</h1>
35 35
36 36
37 37 <div class="header-extra">
38 </header> 38
39 </div>
40 </header>
39 41
40 42
41 <section class="content verse"><p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p></section> 43 <section class="content verse"><p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p></section>